Beyond Walls
by SeraphJewel
Summary: The walls have come down with Peter and Sylar returning to the real world. Claire changed everything, and now they all must face the consequences of this brave new world.
1. One

Disclaimer: First, if you haven't read "Inside Eternity" please do so. This is a continuation of that story. Second, as always I don't own Heroes or any of the characters. Thanks for reading!

Beyond Walls

**One**

They walked together in silence just as they did countless times before. But this time they were surrounded by the millions of other people populating the city. The urgency of finding Emma in time pushed it aside, but now that things were calmer Peter was keenly aware of the people. There were so many… He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to keep from being overwhelmed.

Sylar noticed and guided him to a park bench. Peter couldn't help smiling. Ever since they got out the two of them could communicate without any words. Neither of them could read minds anymore yet they still knew what the other was thinking.

"What do we do now?" Sylar asked him. All that time spent trying to get out and Peter never considered the answer to that question. He was even more at a loss after what Claire did.

"I don't know." Sylar frowned at this and followed him back into the mass of people. The sheer numbers still felt oppressive, so Peter reached for a solid anchor. For some reason the loss of it made a laugh bubble out. "I lost the thimble."

"That's all right," Sylar shrugged. "I forgot the book."

"We can always get them back." Small tokens of their prison here in the real world. Peter didn't want to forget it; like Sylar said, it didn't make it any less real despite how much time they spent there.

"You would want another thimble, Peter Pan?"

"Yeah," Peter confirmed. "I think I would." He stuck his hands in his pockets and continued forward. He could feel Sylar's questioning eyes on him, but didn't know how to answer them yet. It was enough to think of what Claire's actions meant for them. The meaning of all their years together would be dealt with another day.

Finally deciding that the sheer number of people was too much, Peter steered them toward his apartment. It was empty and at the moment Peter needed that. Sylar stood awkwardly near the door as if waiting for permission to move forward. Peter gave him an encouraging smile and gestured him forward. They didn't have any chairs, but they were used to sitting on the ground. Peter got situated with Sylar settling next to him. He didn't think anything of how close they sat to each other.

Sirens and the buzz of traffic made it impossible to sit in silence. Peter grew up on these noises yet they felt unfamiliar to him. How long before he settled back into the flow of the real world?

He would start small: get some chairs in here, and food for the refrigerator. He could handle that much. Peter closed his eyes hoping his body would relax. There were too many things bombarding him to make it really work. He kept his eyes stubbornly closed until pure exhaustion took over.

He had dreams for the first time in years, but they didn't give him any answers.


	2. Two

**Two**

He decided to take some time off work. He more than earned it after picking up all those double and triple shifts. Peter knew that such a request was better done in person but he could barely handle a normal New York street; a trip to Mercy was out of the question. In the end he was glad of the choice since it spared him the look on Hesam's face.

Peter left it up to Sylar on what they would do with the free time. When Sylar expressed his interest in visiting his old watch repair shop, Peter was hit by a mixture of surprise and pleasure. It was a willing step out into the world to an unexpected destination. Then he remembered that Sylar had the shop back in their world. It was probably one of the few places that would be the same here.

They took a taxi to minimize their interactions with other people. Of course the taxi reminded them both of Mohinder and they exchanged amused smiles during the drive. They got off right in front of the building. It was still owned by Gabriel Gray but the numerous business cards stuck inside the door suggested an effort to change that. Sylar opened the door to release the cards to the wind.

Inside was thick in dust and cobwebs. There were no broken clocks, but the place held the same dark loneliness. Without a word Peter started opening windows to let in some fresh air. They would need some cleaning supplies for the rest. Peter turned to Sylar and saw the man fishing out a ladder from storage.

"What's that for?"

"I'm checking for security cameras," the other responded. Peter hadn't even thought of that but it made sense: the Company was just the type to keep tabs on people. Peter did his own sweep of the shop. Between the two of them they found a number of cameras strategically placed throughout the building. They took great pleasure in crushing each one.

With the shop now free from prying eyes, they spent the rest of the morning and some of the afternoon cleaning it up. Peter doubted that his companion intended to use the place again. It was more for the sake of a project. They were aching and tired when they finished, but they were also left with a sense of accomplishment. Peter rewarded their hard work with fast food, a guilty pleasure he'd missed back in their world.

"A nurse should know to eat healthier," Sylar teased him.

"I should," Peter agreed as he crunched down on another French fry. "But these are just too good." That got a laugh out of his companion, and just to show his maturity Sylar flicked his ketchup packet in Peter's direction. Peter responded with a mustard packet. Speaking of mustard, he needed to stop at the grocery store.

"Be careful, Peter Pan. They're going to take away one of your merit badges if they catch you littering." Peter loved how easy it was for them to exchange playful banter. It was natural, an assuring consistency from their time in that world.

Next order of business was a grocery run. After years of never worrying where their food came from, going into the supermarket was surreal. Peter picked out a few things with Sylar adding to the basket now and then. He was debating between coffee brands when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Sylar holding the newspaper. Claire's face was on the front page under the simple heading "Miracle Girl".

"Just because she exposed herself doesn't mean we have to," he said, though it felt like he was just saying that to comfort himself. He wanted to believe it was going to be different from the future he saw.

"If you say so." Sylar clearly wasn't convinced. Peter persisted in keeping the day as normal as possible. He paid for the groceries and got them a taxi back home to put them all away. After that it was to the furniture store for chairs. Sylar tagged along even though he thought the whole thing was pointless.

That was what Peter liked about him: he never tried to talk the empath out of his stubbornness. He simply went along with it, picking up a sledgehammer or comparing prices on armchairs. Sylar was there, and Peter was actually glad for it.


	3. Three

**Three**

Sleeping arrangements were easy: after spending eight years trapped in his own mind, Sylar was reluctant to fall asleep. When he did they came in short naps that were quickly followed by him anxiously seeking out Peter. As for Peter himself, he fared slightly better because he kept his door open. That way, he could listen to Sylar's footsteps as the other man moved around the apartment. Sometimes Sylar's steps would take him to Peter's door just to be sure the empath was still there.

Peter always pretended to be asleep when he heard Sylar coming. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one who needed reminding of the other man's presence.

He woke one morning to the strong scent of freshly-brewed coffee. His eyes cracked open and he rolled off his mattress to follow the scent. Some day he would remember to undress before going to sleep; so far he got as far as his shoes and socks. When he entered the kitchen he caught Sylar in the final stages of preparing breakfast. Fruit was already set out in front of two chairs and he was spooning oatmeal into empty bowls.

Not once in all their years together did Sylar ever do something like this. "This looks good," Peter commented at last. Sylar turned at the voice and offered Peter a faint smile.

"Thank you." Toast suddenly popped up and Sylar added that to the spread. Peter added what he needed to his coffee before taking a seat. It all looked so good he was eager to dig in.

"I was thinking to go back to work tomorrow," Peter mentioned after a while. Which would make his vacation last only two days, and from the look Sylar was giving him the other man didn't approve. "Maybe not to actually work, but I would like to see Emma."

"Ah. Emma." It was amazing how much venom and resentment Sylar could put into two words.

"Just imagine how she must be feeling after everything that happened. She would need someone to talk to about it." He could feel the tension in the air but chose to ignore it. Instead he focused on his breakfast. It was finished in silence, with Peter cleaning the dishes after while Sylar took a shower.

Peter found a change of clothes and laced up his shoes. This gave Sylar enough time to finish in the bathroom and came back with his own change of clothes. With his hair still slicked wet and that collared shirt, he looked like he was on his way to a business trip.

"All you need are the glasses and you'd look like Clark Kent," Peter remarked. That got Sylar to smile again. It was a relief to see; Peter didn't think the killer smiled nearly enough.

"Stay out of trouble, Peter Pan," Sylar warned him playfully. Peter rolled his eyes in reply.

Thankfully, Mercy was experiencing a lull when he walked through the doors. He wasn't dressed for work but he was still given looks as he made his way to Emma's desk. Most of them didn't look surprised he was breaking his vacation so soon. Getting to Emma, Peter rapped his knuckles on the desk knowing the colors would catch her attention. She glanced up and nearly jumped out of her chair to hug him.

"Peter! I haven't seen you since the carnival. That girl who fell from the Ferris wheel has been all over the news and-"

"I know," he agreed. "It's a lot to take in. Are you doing all right?"

"Yes. I don't think anyone knew I was there. They're not asking questions." She seemed relieved about it. Peter kindly guided her over to sit down so they could talk more. Peter answered what questions he could, and she filled him in on the various stories surrounding Claire's stunt.

The more he heard, the more uneasy he felt. He knew exactly what she was planning when he spotted her climbing that wheel, but he did nothing to stop her. A part of him knew that she was no longer the cheerleader who needed saving; she needed to make her own choices and mistakes. But what would happen because of this choice? Even with the formula destroyed, he couldn't stop thinking about the future he saw…

"I'm sorry, Emma, but I need to go. We'll talk more, I promise." Without another word Peter was running out the door.

Panic urged his limbs to go as fast as he could force them. No one else knew that Sylar changed. Now that the world knew about Claire, it was only a matter of time before they started hunting down the notorious serial killer. Peter couldn't let that happen. He bounded up the stairs and fumbled to get the keys in the lock.

"Sylar!" he called out. The man popped up to his feet and Peter attacked him in a tight hug. "You're okay…"

"Of course." Sylar rested an uncertain hand on the empath's back. "Peter, what's wrong?"

"I was worried," he confessed, pulling out of the embrace. "It just started sinking in what this brave new world means for us."

"Us?" Sylar let his hand linger in Peter's hair, his eyes studying the empath.

"Us," he repeated. As always, they left so much unsaid. But Peter hoped Sylar still understood.


	4. Four

**Four**

If by some chance anyone missed the live broadcast of the Miracle Girl's historic jump, the news channels made sure to play it before their latest update on her. Youtube made the footage a viral hit, hitting over a million views in under twenty-four hours. She was discussed on blogs and even had her own fan website.

Peter and Sylar tuned in to watch her just like everyone else in the country. Tonight she was giving a press conference in Washington, D. C. She was so much like her father in the way she commanded an audience that Peter couldn't help smiling.

"For a long time, I was trying to be normal," she was saying into the microphones. "I wanted to be an everyday high school girl. Captain of the cheerleading squad, homecoming queen, everything girls dream about. But I realized none of those things made me happy, because they were me pretending to be something I'm not. I'm not normal, and I shouldn't have to hide that. None of us should.

"Great changes in the past came because a person decided to stop hiding. Women's suffrage, the civil rights movement, gay and lesbian rights to marry… If they could all boldly stand for who they are, why shouldn't I?" She paused, smiling as the crowd burst into enthusiastic applause.

"I'm not alone," she continued over the noise. "I know others are out there, still hiding. Maybe they're not exactly like me, but they can still do amazing things. Maybe your touch turns things to ice, or maybe you breathe underwater. Maybe…" She gazed into the camera, giving the viewers that sad smile Peter knew so well. "Maybe you can fly. I don't know. What I do know is that you shouldn't have to hide it. Be proud of who you are!" The crowd roared loudly in approval. Peter turned the television off before he could see any more.

"She could be a politician," Sylar commented. He returned to his work space where he had a broken watch waiting to be repaired. When he first started up his repair business again, Peter was surprised; he didn't think the other man would want anything to do with watches. Yet here he was doing it again and seemed perfectly content.

"You seem pretty calm," Peter observe with a frown. "You do realize they'll come after you, right?"

"Peter, the whole point of me being out in the real world is to make amends for what I've done. Of course people are going to come after me: I've built up a lot of hatred for the things I've done." He peered up at Peter, and the empath felt a strange twinge in his heart when he saw glasses perched on the other man's nose.

Why did he wear those? Peter never thought to ask.

"Peter?" Sylar examined the younger man worriedly. "Are you all right? You look pale. Maybe you should sit down…" Peter said nothing, reaching out to take the glasses off Sylar's face. Sylar let him do it with a faint smile playing on his lips. "Don't like the Clark Kent look after all, eh?"

"No. I mean, I like the way you look… normally." Feeling awkward, Peter avoided the scrutinizing gaze as he placed the glasses back on the table. He wasn't sure what he was trying to say.

The good thing about Sylar was he let subjects drop once it was clear Peter wouldn't pursue them. He returned to his work, and Peter watched him while putting away the dishes from dinner. Sylar transformed when he was fixing a watch: the intensity he brought to the work, the delicate care he gave each piece, the spark of delight when the project was completed. Sylar must have fixed a million clocks while they were in that world, yet this was the first time Peter actually watched him work.

No one would ever get to see Sylar this way. All it would take was the story of their Miracle Girl, and he would forever be branded a monster. What chance could he have to make amends if people already made up their minds about him? Sylar noticed him staring and met his gaze with a faint smile. That smile tugged at his heart. If only one other person saw the good in Sylar, then maybe there was hope.

The thought gave Peter an idea, and once he ran it by Sylar a date was set for their guest. Emma looked a little nervous but Peter assured her that she was welcome in the apartment. Sylar cooked a simple meal and seemed pleased with her expressions of gratitude. After the meal they talked a bit more. Peter mostly listened, enjoying Sylar's reactions to whatever Emma said. One other person aside from Peter still didn't feel like enough, but it was a good start.

Peter walked Emma downstairs to where she could catch a cab home. "You and Sylar were getting along really well," he commented.

"He saved me. I was glad to get to know him." She paused, eyeing Peter thoughtfully. "Does he know?"

"Of course! And he was glad to have you." Emma gave him a look, shaking her head as she hailed a taxi. Peter felt puzzled but didn't push her. He politely opened the door for her and closed it after she climbed in. "Thanks for coming, Emma."

"You're welcome." She squeezed his hand briefly. He lingered only long enough to be sure her cab was on its way before heading back up to Sylar. He couldn't get over that question she asked: _Does he know?_ Peter opened the door and found Sylar reading quietly on the couch.

The answer was "no". He had no idea.


	5. Five

**Five**

It didn't take long for people to start coming forward. The abilities seemed very benign; those who were more powerful were either smart enough to stay hidden or too frightened to come forward. Instead they saw a boy who understood every language in the world, a girl whose thumb was so green a single touch made the flowers bloom, a man who could live in below zero temperatures without getting frostbite… All harmless things the public embraced. As each one came forward they spoke of how alone and freakish they felt before they saw the Miracle Girl on television.

"She gave me hope," the all said, in one form or another.

Then came the attention-seekers, the ones who wanted their chance in the spotlight. The prodigies, the naturally-skilled, the Guinness world-record holders. They all wanted to be validated as part of this, too. So naturally Chandra Suresh's book was unearthed from its dusty shelf and Mohinder was brought before the world.

"We are all unique creatures," he explained patiently. "Even identical twins have different fingerprints. These abilities are simply the next step forward for humans. Whether you wish to think of it as an act of God or the next stage in evolution, there is no denying that we have crossed into new territory. We are only beginning to unlock the vast potential of humanity."

Peter thought he'd be able to escape it at work, but no such luck. The supervising doctors called staff meetings in groups to go over the new hospital policies. People with abilities had different medical needs, he explained as he clutched Activating Evolution. The paramedics and nurses needed to be extra alert to anything unusual in their patients.

"This is insane," Hesam sighed, shaking his head in bewilderment. "When I first saw that girl pop her shoulder back into place, I thought I was going crazy. But it's all real, isn't it? And you know he's making us read that whole book so we can figure out how to treat these people?"

"I already read it," Peter told him, "and it doesn't say."

"Thanks for the head's up."

Once the day started Peter lost himself to the work as he always did. Their first call left him a little shaken, but he soon blocked it all out to focus. It felt good to throw all his energy into this, to do all he could to save each life. At the end of their shift his body ached from all the strain.

"You haven't changed at all," Hesam chided him. "Let me guess: you're going to take up a double shift, right?"

"I was actually thinking of heading home," Peter corrected him, thoughts eagerly drifting toward Sylar. He could easily picture the older man waiting for him in the apartment, possibly deep in a repair or nose immersed in a book. "I'll see you tomorrow." He held out his fist for a friendly bump, which Hesam gave him with a smirk playing on his lips.

Back at the apartment, it took Sylar all of two seconds to notice how hard Peter pushed himself at work. With an impatient click of his tongue he pushed Peter into a chair and insisted on the empath relaxing. Dinner was a dish of vegetables and rice with an indulgence of vanilla ice cream for dessert. They crashed on the couch after the dishes were all cleaned up.

"Your muscles are tense," Sylar noted, touching a knot in Peter's shoulder. "You work yourself too hard."

"I have to," Peter murmured. He let out a sigh as Sylar's fingers started working at the knots. "If I focus on that, I don't have enough energy to worry about everything else."

"You put too much weight on your shoulders. The whole point of breaking me out was so I could carry some of that burden for you."

"I know." Peter felt himself relax under Sylar's touch. They were back in the real world yet Peter still needed the other just as much. It was natural for him to lean against Sylar's body and use the man as a pillow.

When he woke he was alone in his own room. The clock by his side told him it was almost one o'clock in the morning. With a grunt Peter rolled to his feet and headed out to the living room again. Sylar was busy putting the finishing touches on a repair job and didn't notice him until Peter's hand touched his shoulder.

"I'm not the only one who works too hard," Peter said gently. "I know you don't need to sleep, but you should still rest." He let his fingers brush along Sylar's jaw briefly. Their eyes met, Peter's pulse suddenly speeding up.

"I know," Sylar responded. Peter swallowed and let his hand fall away.

There were no routines anymore, no sense of normalcy. Every day for the next week Peter would turn on the news never knowing what he would see. People with abilities- or Activates, as they were called in honor of Suresh's book- were all the news channels could talk about lately. He kept expecting the next story would be Claire finally telling the world about Sylar, but so far she kept her comments to the promotion of Activate-awareness.

Peter wanted to believe she learned from her time as a fugitive, but he wasn't that naïve anymore. Every day he would be anxious to go home and make sure Sylar was still there. And he was glad Sylar was just as anxious to be sure Peter was still around, too. Small things like Sylar's fingers in his hair or the warmth of Sylar's arm under his hand helped them get through the day.

It was all just the calm before the storm.


	6. Six

**Six**

It was a rare afternoon that found Peter free from work. Sylar took time off with him so they could wander through Central Park together. He automatically walked the path where Peter Pan's statue stood in their world. Although he knew it wouldn't be there he still felt disappointed when they came to the empty spot.

"We're in the real world now, Peter Pan," Sylar reminded him gently.

"I know." He met Sylar's gaze levelly. Too much was uncertain these days. There was still one thing he was sure of, though, and he acted on it without any more hesitation. Peter's hands lifted, cupping Sylar's face in his hands as he pulled the taller man in for a kiss.

He wondered if Sylar could feel the obvious difference in this gesture from the ones Peter gave him in their world. Whether he did or not Sylar was responding with eager hunger. Luckily Peter was aware of the other people around them or things could've gotten out of hand quickly. He pulled back and didn't even bother suppressing the grin on his face.

Sylar brushed his thumb over the corner of Peter's crooked smile affectionately. His other hand was resting lightly on Peter's back; the empath could pull away easily if he wanted.

"Let's get home," he suggested casually. Sylar briefly ran his fingers through Peter's hair before nodding and following after him. He might have already guessed Peter's reasons for going back to the apartment, but just to be sure Peter made it abundantly clear once they were both inside with the door closed.

Sylar was working Peter's pants off his hips when the empath whispered the two words in his ear. They were words he rarely used in their world and Sylar immediately understood what they meant. Peter tried to ignore the smug look on Sylar's face when he heard them. Then his back was up against a wall as Sylar willingly obeyed.

Much later they relaxed together on Peter's mattress. His eyes turned idly to the clock and he was treated to a shock seeing the hour. Time always got away from him when he was with Sylar like this; somehow being in the real world didn't change that. He slipped out of the other man's arms and hunted around until he found his pants. It was almost time for the evening news. His steps were slow as he headed for the living room but he didn't mind the ache.

Naturally, it took Sylar little time to notice Peter's absence and get dressed enough to follow him. "The news is coming on," Peter told him, passing him a soda.

"Ah." That was enough explanation for Sylar. The two of them settled on the couch as Peter flicked on the television.

"Tonight on Special Reports: a serial killer who targets Activates." Peter almost turned it off again but Sylar quickly stopped him.

"It's okay, Peter. I want to hear this."

"… and our very own Miracle Girl, Claire Bennet, will be giving an interview detailing her personal encounter with this killer," the reporter was saying. "Thank you for being here tonight, Claire."

"Thank you for having me," she answered with a smile. Whoever did her wardrobe for the interview did a great job of making her beautiful and vulnerable. "I admit it was hard for me to come forward with this; I've grown so used to keeping secrets. But I owe it to the Activates all over the world who are embracing their gifts to tell them about my experience."

"And I'm sure they're all very grateful to you," the reporter answered kindly. "Why don't you tell us, in your own words, how you came to be the target of this monster?"

Claire obliged, detailing that night at homecoming. Peter could hear the words but his mind refused to register them. It was finally happening. It wouldn't be much longer now for the manhunt to begin. When Claire finished her story they flashed Sylar's face on the screen for the whole world to see. The disheveled long hair dropping in his face didn't do him any favors: he _looked_ dangerous.

"Well, there you have it." Sylar turned off the television, giving Peter an expectant look. "You just had sex with a monster."

"You're _not_ a monster," Peter insisted. "Not anymore. You've changed. You're just…"

"Gabriel," Sylar supplied helpfully. But hearing that name didn't ease Peter's mind. He pictured the gentle man in glasses, remembering how that peace was destroyed. Peter couldn't let that happen.

"I know who you are," he said at last. "And if you forget, I'll be here to remind you." That brought on the smile Peter liked so much. As much as he wished the rest of the world knew this side of Sylar, he was a little glad some parts were just for him to see.

Peter's mood was light on the way to work the next day, remembering Sylar's expression when Peter stayed with him the entire night. Sylar got that intense look in his eyes that he always did when trying to figure things out. He knew things were different from their intimacy in that place, but the why evaded him. Or maybe he knew and wasn't accepting it. Knowing Sylar, the second option was much more likely.

His good mood was killed when he walked through the hospital doors. Two men in suits were waiting at the reception desk. They zeroed in on him, flashing badges.

"Are you Peter Petrelli?"

"Yes." He was immediately on guard. "What's this about?"

"We were hoping we could speak with you privately." Peter reluctantly motioned them into an empty room. "As I'm sure you know, Mr. Petrelli, the nation has been made recently aware of a dangerous serial killer who targets Activates." Peter acknowledged this with a brief nod. "We understand you have some previous experience with the killer."

"Did Claire tell you that?" Peter demanded, probably sounding a bit too aggressive. The two men exchanged hesitant glances before one decided to answer.

"She did, and we were hoping you could tell us his whereabouts."

"How would I know that?" Definitely too aggressive now.

"We believe you've had recent contact with him, Mr. Petrelli," one of the suits answered carefully. Peter's mind immediately went to Matt Parkman, and he let out a sigh.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I have no idea where he is. I haven't seen him since I tried to kill him for murdering my brother." He paused to let that uncomfortable subject sink in. "He attacked my mother, too. So as much as I'd love to go running around the country hunting him down, I need to be close by to keep her safe."

"I see. And you say you haven't seen him lately?"

"No, I haven't." They couldn't know anything… He stared at them stubbornly until they gestured in defeat.

"Thank you anyway for your time, Mr. Petrelli." Peter nodded, watching silently as they left the hospital. They couldn't know. He kept telling himself this but he couldn't shake the bad feeling in his gut.

The work day never felt so long before.


	7. Seven

**Seven**

It didn't take very long for things to go from a discussion to a fight. They were both furious, and had progressed to shouting at each other.

"I am so sick of your ridiculous hero complex! It's not your responsibility to save everyone! Did you even think that _I_ could be the hero this time? I _want_ to help! Don't you trust me?"

"It's not about trust, it's about being smart! Your face is all over the newspapers and the internet now. They're going to be looking for you!"

"We knew that was going to happen from the beginning, Peter. Why are you so worried about it now?"

"Because I love you, jackass!" He froze; he hadn't meant to say it out loud. Sylar had a strangely guarded expression on his face, and it didn't take a telepath to know what he was thinking.

After all, Sylar was a monster. He killed or victimized everyone in Peter's family. He didn't deserve Peter's friendship, or intimacy, and certainly not his love. Yet Peter gave him all those things whether he deserved them or not.

"I love you," Peter repeated more firmly.

"Peter…" Sylar's voice calmed to a gentle tone, his fingers moving to comb through the empath's hair. "You can be so stubborn." Peter's lip twitched into a smile. They didn't talk about it anymore that day, but he was pretty sure neither of them were going to give up their side of the argument.

Still, Peter felt he should make some sort of gesture for Sylar. Something to show that they were still a team in all this madness. When he finally found the right thing, he was all too eager to get home. So eager he didn't notice anything wrong at first. By the time he realized, it was already too late.

The apartment had that disturbing "not really messed up, but everything still out of place" look to it. Someone was there looking for something. They hadn't found it, so they waited. And Peter stupidly walked right in without realizing the door was unlocked. One of them was on him in a minute. Something was pressed against his mouth to keep him from shouting. Chloroform.

Something fell to the floor with an ominous _thud_, the book Peter bought showing its title for anyone curious enough to look: The Pillars of the Earth.

When Peter woke he noticed two things: he was sitting in a room eerily similar to his cell back in Hartsdale, and he was handcuffed to a chair. At least he was still wearing the same clothes. Peter tugged on the cuff a little, though he didn't really expect to break free from it. The door opened and in strode a man wearing a lab coat. His dark hair was giving way to gray but he didn't seem very old. He offered Peter a calming smile.

"Hello, Peter. I can call you Peter, I hope?" His smile stayed strong even at the face of silence. "I want to personally apologize for the way you were brought here, but given your history we weren't sure you would come willingly. And I'm afraid I can't take off that handcuff until we're sure of what 'ammunition' you might be carrying."

Peter's eyebrows furrowed together. Did they know about his ability? "What do you want?"

"The same thing we wanted before, Peter," the doctor- was he a doctor?- answered. "We want you to help us find Sylar. I know you denied knowledge of his whereabouts before, but we have a reliable witness stating they saw him in your apartment." Peter struggled very hard to keep his face blank. A reliable witness? His mother, maybe? "I don't know why you're hiding him from us, Peter, but you can do the right thing and tell us where to find him."

Peter answered with a shake of his head. They clearly already tried the apartment and got the address for Sylar's new repair shop. Sylar would know if either of those places were searched much sooner than Peter, but where else would he go? "I don't know where he is," Peter insisted.

"I see." The doctor looked disappointed. "Well, as long as I have you, maybe you can help me with something. You're a trained nurse and I would be grateful if you would examine a patient with me."

Peter didn't know where this was going and he didn't even agree before the doctor called for the patient to be brought in. A boy no older than five or six was wheeled in on a gurney, and even with an oxygen mask strapped to his mouth he was struggling to breathe. Peter jerked against the handcuff restlessly. Was this kid a captive like him? The doctor smiled, offering his stethoscope and wheeling the boy close enough for Peter to examine while still cuffed to the chair.

It was a pain to do all of this one-handed but Peter did manage to get the stethoscope arranged, and placed it on the boy's chest. The moment his fingers touched the boy's skin he felt the power shoot up his arm, jerking away again too slowly. Smoke was filling his lungs and he gasped, helplessly searching for clean air. He coughed and a puff of smoke escaped his lips. He couldn't breathe, his vision was getting fuzzy, he- No! He forced himself to stay calm Peter exhaled slowly to release all the smoke, and he could breathe again.

"Fascinating." His eyes focused back on the doctor. "You took his ability and mastered it in under two minutes. You really are quite extraordinary, Peter." He snorted, letting out another puff of smoke.

"That kid is scared. He needs to calm down, or he'll suffocate to death."

"Thank you for the information. That's very useful. Now, why don't you be just as forthcoming about the information regarding Sylar? We know he was living with you, Peter. Why are you protecting him?" Peter answered by blowing a cloud of smoke into the doctor's face. The man coughed, waving the smoke away. "Very well. In that case, it's time for your next patient."

Peter knew what was coming this time and refused to touch the teenage girl they brought in. Not that it made any difference: they grabbed his hand and forced it on her skin. The next time they had to strap his legs into place to keep him from struggling, and the time after that got both hands cuffed. With each new "patient" it became less about helping them and more about testing Peter. He knew that was all this was really about in the end.

"Does Claire know you're doing this?" he demanded, squinting against the brightness his latest ability gave to his sight.

"We're helping people understand and control their abilities, Peter. Surely you above all people can appreciate the importance of that work." He couldn't believe they knew about that; who told them? "Now, where's Sylar?"

"I already told you I don't know anything!"

"You're lying." They brought in another Activate, and another and another and another until Peter lost count.

Some of the abilities were benign while others almost killed him before he managed to gain control. He could feel himself cracking at the edges. This was so much worse than when he exploded; that happened in an instant. Feeling them pull in and out with hardly any time to settle was maddening. With every new touch he absorbed all their emotions, and those didn't leave with the ability. So many people crowded in his head he couldn't tell what was himself anymore.

But they didn't have Sylar. He was still safe, and that thought kept Peter sane.


	8. Eight

**Eight**

What time was it? He lost all sense of it. They tried to feed him but his jaw wouldn't work correctly. He couldn't sleep, either: the adrenaline from constant power switches wouldn't allow it. So Peter lay chained to the bed staring blankly out into nothing. This time there was no Adam to draw him out; he would just keep sinking farther until he was completely lost.

The doctor came in with another patient. Seeing him approach, Peter instinctively recoiled. No, not another one… not again. His fragmented mind was just barely able to register that this patient was heavily sedated. What was their power? What were they about to do to him? He desperately cringed away but of course he couldn't escape it as the Activate's skin touched his.

The fury burned through everything else, giving him a sharp clarity. This anger from the Activate mingled with his own pent-up rage; he didn't try to stop it. In a flash his hand shot out and grabbed the pen out of the doctor's hand. One jab was all it took to drive it through the man's palm, and while he was still screaming Peter pulled him forward to get the keys for his handcuffs.

He didn't feel any stronger or faster. He just managed to catch the doctor by surprise and was now hurrying to take advantage of it. Peter pushed the man up against the wall, searching one-handed until he found a scalpel. He waved it so its metal would catch the light.

"Were you planning on using this?"

"Peter-"

"Shut up." Peter pressed the scalpel against the man's throat. His thoughts still weren't completely formed: the only clear thought was his rage toward this man. He was tortured, torn apart, fragmented, and in front of him was the one responsible.

The doctor took an unsteady breath, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. He parted his lips to speak but Peter didn't want to listen. How many times did he beg and scream, only to be ignored? One hand firmly clamped down on the man's mouth and the other moved the scalpel.

He watched in a strangely detached way as dark red stained the skin.

Peter made it out of the room to the angry blares of an alarm. He was almost wanting a fight so he could channel the anger. But when someone finally came into view, all the fight drained out of him.

"You just can't help yourself, can you? I can't be the hero for one minute."

"You…" He stiffened, his fingers tightening around the scalpel. "You can't be here. You're not real."

"That's my line, Peter Pan." No one else knew about that nickname, but being assured it was really Sylar didn't make Peter feel relaxed.

"Did they capture you?"

"No." Sylar's eyebrows knitted together. "I came to rescue you. I even shape-shifted." Peter was stunned; he knew Sylar hated shape-shifting. "Then of course you had to ruin it by setting off the alarm. Whose blood is that, by the way?" Peter blinked, noticing the blood on his hands for the first time.

"A doctor's. I never got his name." Sylar studied him in concern, lifting a hand. Peter instinctively flinched away. Sylar's concern only grew but he let his hand drop.

"Let's get out of here."

Having Sylar nearby was soothing. They brought down a wall and defeated Samuel's carnival; this was nothing for them. Sylar was going out of his way not to hurt anyone on their way out. If Peter wasn't still so furious, he would've appreciated the gesture.

"Peter, stop!" A hand touched him and he gasped as the familiar power settled inside. Only then could he focus on the man at his feet and his bloody fists. When did that happen? He couldn't remember. Peter gazed wide-eyed at Sylar, struggling against the urge to touch him and the instinct to keep away from any contact.

He understood now why Sylar ran when Peter first entered his mind. "This is real, isn't it?" Sylar's expression softened into a smile Peter knew very well.

"The only thing real is us."


	9. Nine

**Nine**

He stared blankly at the radio, the cracking voices nothing more than meaningless noise. His legs were pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped up tightly around to keep them close. Even holding himself as tight as he could, Peter felt like he might shatter at any moment. Noises made him flinch and when he could focus, his eyes settled on Sylar. He kept expecting the man to disappear and to find himself back in that room.

But the minutes ticked by and Sylar was still there; he was really free. Peter studied the man's face, knowing every twitch of the eyebrows and pull of the lips. Worry and concern were most prominent; underneath that was relief, and deeper still was rage. The rage sparked up when Sylar saw his face, and Peter wondered if he looked as bad as he felt.

"What did they do to you?" Sylar finally asked him.

"Just kept asking me where you were. Someone told them you were living with me."

"Peter, don't keep things from me. What did they do?"

"They…" Peter swallowed. "They brought in Activates, and made me touch them. At first they pretended I was helping the Activates with their powers, but it was more like torture. All of those powers going in and out made me feel like I would explode. I tried to fight but they just chained me up and brought in someone else."

The more he spoke, the fresher it felt in his mind. He closed his eyes trying to block it out. Movement stirred and he opened his eyes to see Sylar reaching for him. Peter froze, longing for the touch but unwilling to accept it. Sylar held out his hand with a worried look in his eyes.

"Go ahead and take it, Peter." Tentatively Peter let his fingers brush against Sylar's palm. That brief contact was all he needed for the emotions to hit: panic when he went missing, desperation during the search, anger when his location was discovered, relief when they reunited, and hopeless worry now. Underneath it all was another emotion, one most wouldn't expect was so strong in a person like Sylar.

Peter let his hand drop, at a loss for words. Sylar let out an irritated huff. "You were supposed to take my healing."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"See for yourself." Sylar nodded meaningfully to the nearby glass window. Peter managed to untangle himself, his limbs stiff until they remembered their stride again. At last he made it to the window and stared at his reflection.

Dark stubble was beginning to grow along his jaw and his eyes held a wary, haunted edge. But the most noticeable change was the long scar that cut across his face. Peter thought he felt himself splitting apart, but hadn't expected it to be literal. And this scar wasn't new; he saw it on his face once before, in a future he thought was changed. Then he remembered farther back when he first met Hiro. _You look different without your scar,_ the man had commented. Two futures with a scar, and now it was here in the present.

"I was supposed to save you from that," Sylar told him. Peter turned to face the taller man again. "I was too late to stop them, but let me do at least this much." Peter gave Sylar's hand a comforting squeeze. He doubted this would work; after all, surely his selves in the future could heal. The delay apparently irritated Sylar. "You don't want to heal, do you? You think you deserve that scar because you killed a man. Peter, you don't have to punish yourself for that! You're _not_ a murderer. I won't let you become that man. I love you too much for that, you stubborn idiot!"

Peter opened his mouth but couldn't form words. He felt that love when he touched Sylar's hand, but to hear the man admit it…

"I love you too, Gabriel." It was the first time he used Sylar's real name, and somehow it made the moment feel more intimate. He caught the man's eye and managed to smile.

"You look like your old self again, Peter Pan." Peter wordlessly drew him closer to show just how much of his old self was still here.

Later Peter took a tour of their new hiding place. The apartment was unfurnished except for the radio. Sylar told his side of the story: he went to Gray and Son's for some tools and knew right away someone searched it. He called Peter immediately but the other man was probably in the ambulance and unable to hear his phone over the sirens. After four more unanswered calls Sylar went to the hospital himself. Peter was already gone, and all Sylar needed to see was the conspicuously open door of their apartment to know what happened.

After that it was an endless search until he found Peter again. The whole ordeal took less than two days, but they both agreed it felt like much longer. Sylar apologetically mentioned he couldn't rescue any personal possessions from their apartment, but Peter honestly didn't mind. This was hardly the first time he was uprooted.

"What should we do now?" Peter wondered aloud. "His methods were extreme, but he still _died_ to make sure a future like this never happened. The formula's gone but we're still exposed. People are still going to want abilities, and now they have data on how my power works."

"If we go back, it may come to a fight," Sylar mused. "If we fight, someone might get hurt. Are you okay with that?"

"We don't have much of a choice." A vindictive part of him naturally wanted to get back at them, but he knew vengeance would only make things worse. "We'll just make sure it's as small-scale as possible."

"That will be difficult." Sylar's fingers combed gently through Peter's hair. "I would really love to make them pay for what they did to you. But I'll behave, if you think you can do the same."

"I'm not sure," Peter replied honestly.

"Don't worry, Peter. I promise I won't let you be a killer."

Peter wondered if this was what his future selves were missing: a partner they could trust completely, who would stand by him and still yell when he was being stupid. Peter always thought he had to do things on his own, but Sylar wouldn't let him get away with that. They were together on this, no matter what happened next.


	10. Ten

**Ten**

The raid made evening news. They were calling it a hate crime: the targeted building was a research hospital specializing in the treatment of Activates. A staff doctor who worked with Activates was murdered and valuable research material was destroyed. Now medicine for them was set back, and all because of one man. His scarred face was menacing as it glared out from the television screen.

Peter lifted a finger and changed the channel to some daytime soap opera. The waitress behind the counter was startled and she tried changing it back without luck. Eventually the poor girl was forced to get a manager. Peter felt a little bad about that but he was tired of watching the story.

He dropped some money on the counter, flicking the channel back to normal as he left. He couldn't escape from it, anyway: the raid was all anyone could talk about it. Peter's scarred face followed him all the way back to where he and Sylar were currently hiding.

The place was pathetically bare at first but they found they didn't need that much to survive. A few blankets for them to sleep on, a shower and changes of clothes, a radio and a small television to keep them updated on the latest news. They were getting low on money with no chance of getting more outside of theft. This wasn't the first time Peter was a fugitive; he knew he had to do what was necessary.

"We have to move again," he announced. "My face is all over the news."

"Okay. First I want to give you something. Just in case the worst happens." Before Peter could argue Sylar was opening his hand. In his palm rested a silver necklace with a thimble pendant.

Peter remembered the first time he received this gift. Anyone else would've found it strange, but for Peter a thimble was the kiss exchanged between Peter and Wendy. It told him that Sylar cared for him as more than just a friend, and the realization stunned him. He knew his reaction frustrated Sylar back then, but his own mixed feelings made it difficult to respond. This time he knew exactly what to do.

Peter fastened the necklace around his throat and closed the distance between them, holding Sylar's face in his hands as he brought the man in for a kiss. He felt Sylar respond immediately, hungrily. Like he did every single time Peter was close to him.

"Don't think about the worst happening. I only got caught because I was stupid and reckless. It won't happen again, okay?"

"Yes, it will. You're always stupid and reckless." He said it with affection, though, his fingers combing through the empath's hair. "Come on, Peter Pan. Let's get out of here."

In three minutes the apartment was clear of all traces. As if they never came at all. Public transportation was no longer safe so they had to take a car. Funny how the idea of stealing didn't even bother Peter. They had to do whatever was necessary to survive, after all. Peter kept the radio off while they drove so they could enjoy a few moments of peace.

Hours of driving later found them eating take-out in the car. The world seemed almost normal. It was wonderful to forget all about their troubles momentarily. All too soon they needed to move on and find a new place to hide.

Their raid had the opposite effect: with medical personnel uncertain of how to treat them, Activates were practically volunteering to be tested. Law enforcement all over New York was now charged with the task of hunting down the criminal responsible for all that lost data. How could this be happening? After all Peter went through to make sure this future didn't happen, and yet it was unfolding before his eyes. Maybe there was no formula but that wasn't going to stop them for long.

"I've had enough of this," he declared. "I'm not running anymore."

"I figured you might say that," Sylar commented.

"We can't stop this, but maybe we can change its direction." Peter paused, knowing how Sylar would react even as the next words left his mouth. "I need to talk to Claire."

"I'm going with you." Peter shook his head. He planned to make a good argument for going alone, but Sylar chased all those words away with a look. "We're doing this together, remember?"

"I figured you might say that," Peter remarked with an amused twitch of his lips. He was a little relieved Sylar was so insistent; Peter honestly couldn't imagine doing it without him. "She's going to be pissed when she sees you."

"Yeah, well…" Sylar gave a one-shoulder shrug. Peter just smiled at him, reaching out to take Sylar's hand in his.

"I'll race you." With that he shot up into the air, Sylar following closely by his side.


	11. Eleven

**Eleven**

It felt like years since the last time he got to have a real conversation with Claire. So much changed for both of them. Peter, for example, had to call her from a pre-paid phone and immediately lose it so his location couldn't be traced. But she agreed to meet him, and to him that felt like a step in the right direction.

The roof of the Deveaux building didn't change that much. The pigeons were still there; it made Peter smile to see them, though he suspected Claude didn't come by much these days. While he waited for Claire he went around to feed them. A few escaped but he knew they'd return if they wanted.

"Peter." He turned and even after everything, couldn't help the smile that formed when he saw her. She was dressed casually with her hair growing out like it was when they first met. Still blonde, he was happy to note. "Your scar's gone."

"I thought it might be too conspicuous," he answered with a casual shrug. "Thanks for meeting me, Claire."

"Of course. You said it was important." Neither of them moved to embrace. Things really were different. "So what's up?"

"Just… how could you do this, Claire? I can understand you not wanting to hide anymore, but how could you tell them about me? How could you let them do those things to me? They _tortured_ me, Claire. Did you know that?"

"What?" Claire's face flickered in surprise and uncertainty. "No, they told me you were helping them."

"They lied. All those powers going in and out of my body…" Peter paused to press his fingers to his temples. Sylar stepped out of the shadows to be closer. Claire sucked in a breath.

"What the hell is _he_ doing here?"

"Claire…"

"How could you bring him here, Peter? After what he did?"

"I'm not that man anymore, Claire," Sylar assured her gently. "I've changed." Claire let out a snort of disbelief. "I know it's difficult for you to understand, but I really am trying to do better. I helped stop Samuel's plan at the carnival."

"So you think one good act suddenly makes up for all the bad things you did? You must be joking."

"You're not so innocent," Sylar reminded her quietly. "Or did you miss the part where Peter said he was tortured by your friends?"

"You remember Kirby Plaza?" Peter added when it looked like Claire was ready to argue again. "When I took on too many powers at once? That's exactly what it felt like. Some of those powers they forced me to take could've killed me… They almost did. Didn't you wonder _how_ I got that scar? That was my skin splitting apart! And now Activates are lining up to be tested! Are you okay with them being tested like that?!"

A heavy silence hung in the air after he finished his rant. Peter's shoulders shook as he caught his breath. He felt Sylar rub his back soothingly and gave the man a grateful smile. Claire stood with her mouth half-open, eyes moving between them. Slowly her lips pushed together in a thin line.

"I watched the security footage. You killed someone, Peter. Do you really expect me to believe a word you're saying after that?"

"That was an accident."

"You 'accidentally' cut a man's throat with a scalpel?"

"You're not listening!" Peter felt like he was losing this fight and took a step forward, trying one last time to reason with her. "This has gone too far, Claire. You have to stop it before it gets worse."

"Peter…" She gave him a sad smile, so much like the one he remembered from their very first meeting. "I'm sorry for what happened to you. You're right: this _has_ gone too far. I'm going to fix everything. Starting with this."

The next few seconds were a flash of activity. Claire whipped out a gun from behind her back and pulled the trigger. The shot cracked out in the silence, and then a body was crumbling to the ground.

"Peter!" The pain in Sylar's voice was almost like he was the one shot. He immediately dropped down and applied pressure to the wound. "You idiot… I could've taken that hit." Peter opened his mouth but all that came out was blood. Claire moved forward in a daze, the gun hanging limply at her side.

"Why did he…?" But then she noticed the way Sylar was holding Peter and the look in his eyes, and she knew. "He loves you, doesn't he? And you love him…" Sylar didn't answer; his focus was on Peter, and the blood still pumping out of the empath's body.

"Heal, dammit. Take my power and heal." Claire never heard Sylar sound so scared before. He was breaking down at the thought of Peter's death. Claire wasn't too worried; she could always give him a blood transfusion later. Right now her hated for Sylar was suppressing everything else.

"You took everything from me. My parents, the safety of my home… and now Peter too. This is _your_ fault."

"Go ahead and kill me, then," Sylar challenged her venomously.

Claire hesitated for just a moment. She looked in Sylar's eyes and didn't see a killer. She saw a man who just lost the only thing important to him. Peter was in his arms, pale with death. Claire pressed the barrel of the gun against Sylar's forehead and curled her finger around the trigger.


	12. Twelve

**Twelve**

Five more shots cracked through the air, then the gun clattered loudly to the ground. Claire stood with her hands trembling and breath coming in sharp gasps. Slowly Peter rose to his feet, spitting the bloody bullet into his hand. Color started returning to his cheeks as his body repaired itself.

"I was hoping it wouldn't end like this," he said raggedly.

"You're the one who chose _him_ over your own family," Claire retorted. "After everything he did to me… to your own brother! How could you do this, Peter?"

"You're the one who brought a gun, Claire!" he snapped. "You already decided I was the enemy."

"Looks like I was right." Her eyes were misting but no tears fell. She took another step back and raced through the door. Peter let her go without a fight. How did this go so wrong? This meeting didn't change anything; it was only going to get worse from here.

"Peter…" Sylar turned him around so he could make sure the empath was fully healed. "If you ever do that again I'll kill you myself." He sounded furious but ruined the threat in the next instant by pulling Peter in for a desperate hug. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you."

"Good thing you won't have to worry about that," Peter mumbled into the taller man's shoulder. Sylar pulled back to pick at the bullet hole left behind. He was still trying to be angry without much success. "I'm sorry," Peter said at last. "I didn't mean to upset you, I just moved on instinct."

"I know. So what's the plan now? Talking to Claire didn't do any good." Peter pulled out of Sylar's grasp and moved to the roof's edge, gazing out over the city skyline. At that very moment their faces were being broadcast all over the country warning of the dangers they posed to Activates. Even if they ran there was nowhere for them to go.

Peter hated feeling powerless. His fingers curled into fists and he slammed them against the stone ledge. Going back in time wasn't an option; he learned from his future self that fixing things that way wouldn't work. He had to save the world in the present, but how? What could he do when every action he took turned him more into a villain? It was bad enough for him, but when he thought about Sylar and how desperately the man wanted to change…

There was really no other choice.

"You heard Claire: I'm her enemy now. So I guess I'll start acting like it."

* * *

Hesam watched nervously as their new security team swept the hospital. Ever since the raid on the hospital across town, Mercy was getting more serious about protecting its patients and staff. While that was great in theory Hesam didn't like the military vibe those security guys were giving off. And for it to be Petrelli behind all of this? He still couldn't wrap his mind around it.

There were all these new procedures the hospital was implementing. If any of their patients showed abnormal behavior that might flag them as possible Activates, they were to alert security personnel immediately. Anyone who came in claiming to be an Activate was to be taken to a special room before seeing a doctor. Blood taken from an Activate was to be handed off to security as soon as possible.

All of this, they explained, was for the Activate's protection.

At least Hesam wasn't the only one nervous about the changes. The quiet girl who handled the files was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable as the days drew on. Hesam remembered how she and Petrelli interacted before things went south, and wondered if she was thinking of their mutual friend.

"Hey." He waved to her casually. "Can you believe this? I feel like I'm in a war zone." She glanced up at him but didn't respond. He leaned in a little closer before continuing: "You know Peter? I was riding in an ambulance with the guy for months. The guy had a hero complex; he didn't seem like the type to turn into a terrorist."

"He was living with that man Sylar," Emma told him. "He invited me to have dinner with them. I told the authorities as soon as I saw that special report, but… I still can't believe it. I thought he was a hero."

"The serial killer? Are you serious? Jesus." Just one more thing to flip his world upside-down. A member of the security team came up and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, but may we have a word with you?" Hesam could feel the trouble in that simple question but had no choice but to agree. His eyes kept darting to the guns holstered at their hips. "We understand that you were once partnered with Peter Petrelli. Is this correct?"

"Yeah, but I haven't seen him in a long time. Since before that first hospital raid he was in, when he killed that doctor." Those words felt strange in his mouth. Peter Petrelli a killer… Nothing in his life made any sense.

"If he makes contact with you, inform us immediately."

"Look, we were just partners," Hesam explained nervously. "I didn't know the guy very well."

"We're asking all of his known associations to contact us regardless of relationship." He was given a card with a phone number printed on it. "Remember to call us if he contacts you." Hesam wordlessly put the card in his pocket and went back to work.

Later that day Hesam turned in a letter of resignation. The hospital just wasn't the same place anymore.


	13. Thirteen

**Thirteen**

It was days later and Claire still couldn't get the image out of her mind. Peter, pale and dying on the stones. Sylar's face tight in anguish as he clung onto the body. The heartbroken look in his eyes when it seemed for a moment Peter was lost forever. Claire didn't think she could feel pain but when she realized Sylar was in love with Peter and vice versa, it was like a cold stab in her heart. Her uncle, her hero, the man she used to trust more than anyone in love with the psychopath who victimized her and murdered both her biological parents.

She rested her face in her hands to hide the hot tears that started to burn her eyes. Funny, but she always thought she would be grateful when pain came back to her. She felt so numb most of the time that any sort of feeling was welcome. But she wasn't grateful for this; she would actually be more welcome of the nothing just so she would stop hurting.

And that wasn't even the worst part. When Peter revived he looked at her with a cold edge in his eyes. He wasn't the same man any more than she was the same young cheerleader. They grew apart and there was nothing to bridge that distance. Claire wanted to blame Sylar but if she went after him, Peter would be in the way. He was choosing that monster over her. Why? How could he do that to her?

"Claire?" She stirred, quickly wiping away any traces of tears. But it was only Gretchen, and Claire let down her guard again. The dark-haired girl sensed something was wrong even from a distance and drew closer. "Claire, what's wrong?"

"I killed my uncle." Claire let out a humorless laugh. "I meant to kill Sylar, but Peter took the bullet. He was willing to die for that monster. But it's okay, because Peter can heal. He died, and when he came back he was my enemy."

"Claire…" Gretchen reached out a hand to stroke her hair. "God, I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything." Claire leaned a little closer, resting her hands casually on Gretchen's arms. Her face drew close and her eyelids dropped. She could see Gretchen swallow nervously. Smiling, Claire claimed the other girl's lips in a heated kiss. The sensation was such a relief she was seeking more in a matter of seconds.

Claire clung onto Gretchen tightly. Here was the one person who hadn't abandoned her. Her mother still loved her but couldn't be a part of her world. Her father was deeply hurt by the choice she made; it was her own fault that connection was broken. Meredith and Nathan were both dead, she could never trust Angela, and now Peter was gone too. If she didn't have Gretchen, Claire was sure she would fall apart. She broke from their kiss to whisper needy, desperate words into the other girl's ear.

"Are you sure?" Gretchen asked warily.

"Yes. I need you, Gretchen." There was no more talking after that. Just mouths and hands and skin, and the rustle of bed sheets between them.

Claire stirred some time later to the sound of her cell phone. She quietly slipped out of bed and found a bathrobe to wrap around herself as she quietly padded over to answer it. When she saw the number she closed her bedroom door so Gretchen wouldn't overhear.

"Hello?"

"We lost track of Petrelli and Gray, ma'am. We've tightened security at all the major hospitals but I'm afraid people are starting to get nervous. The president would like to meet with you to discuss future options."

"Okay," Claire agreed with a heavy sigh. She didn't like the tighter security, either, but what else could she do when Peter and Sylar continued destroying all the data collected on Activates? The world already knew and yet they were still trying to keep it a secret. Claire hadn't forgotten being a fugitive but was determined for it to be different.

"There's one more thing, ma'am. A family of four was found dead in their homes this morning. We're keeping the media out of it for now but it won't be long before people start asking questions." Claire waited for the speaker to reach his point. "Ma'am, there was a fifth member of the family. Authorities have been unable to locate him. We have him tagged as an Activate."

"And you think he killed his family," Claire concluded heavily.

"Yes, ma'am. All four bodies show signs of suffocation without any evidence of what caused it. An Activate's ability is the only thing that makes sense." Claire felt a chill down her spine, taking a few breaths.

"Okay. Call me as soon as you find him."

"Yes, ma'am." The line was disconnected. Claire set her phone back in its place and walked back to her room. She disrobed and climbed into bed, waking Gretchen for a second round.

She needed something to assure her she was still alive.


	14. Fourteen

**Fourteen**

As his fingers ran over the short hairs on the back of the other man's neck, Peter reflected on how glad he was they both finally got haircuts. The longer hair was nice to play with but in the end was more of a hindrance. He felt Sylar shiver under his attention and smiled against the taller man's lips. They were together for a year and a half now, if he were to count that time in their world, and Sylar still desired him. Peter's temporary death seemed to make the feeling more potent.

"God, I love you, Gabriel," he whispered breathlessly.

"I love you, Peter," the other answered. "And as much as I'd love to have sex with you right now, we need to concentrate."

"Sorry, it's just… when I touch my thimble necklace…"

"I warned you not to take that one," Sylar chided him. "If you're not going to use it the right way, you need to take something else." Peter let out a sigh but obediently let another ability flow through his body. After his torture he probably could never do this with another Activate, but Sylar was so familiar it didn't bother him at all.

He knew Sylar was going to be curious about which one he chose this time, so Peter lifted a hand and sent litter scattering out of the alley. They only paused here to catch their breaths after yet another hospital raid. Peter felt they were finally getting the message across that those places weren't safe for Activates, even if the danger was the two of them. He was using Sylar's psychometry to learn what he could about the hospital and plan their next move. But then his fingers touched the thimble around his neck, and… well, those memories were very erotic.

"You keep picking that one," Sylar noted. "I wish you would stick to healing."

"I'll work on that." Maybe once things settled down he could keep healing, but at the moment he needed a more offensive ability. Besides, this one just came the easiest for him. Even before really connecting with Sylar, Peter could always control telekinesis with better skill.

They got back on track and took shelter in an abandoned building to discuss their next move. The memories they gleamed proved that Peter wasn't the only case of Activate testing. None fo them were tortured but it did carry an unsettling parallel to the Company. Peter wished they could contact Noah Bennet and get his take on this, but the memories also told of how that man was closely monitored.

Speaking of being monitored, private doctors were now calling in all their patients for blood samples and keeping records of which ones showed up as Activates. All Activate blood was being handed off to Mohinder, who would then test it and determine the ability. No doubt he thought he could help them understand these powers, but to Peter it just felt like one step closer to places like Coyote Sands and Level Five. After his talk with Claire he doubted reasoning with any of them would do good.

They bought a pre-paid cell phone. Not for communication, but to send a message out to Rebel. Sylar encountered the young man once and knew he would still be willing to help. A text conversation later had Rebel agreeing to help wipe out any electronic data on Activates. He couldn't do anything about physical records, but that was where Peter and Sylar would come in. Of course the wipe would only put Rebel on their radar; Peter and Sylar promised to make enough noise to put the focus back on themselves.

In a way, Peter sometimes felt like they were back in front of that wall. They continued hammering away trying to make a difference yet the wall stubbornly stayed up. Even knowing that things progressed too far to turn back, Peter couldn't help but hope. Not for anonymity, but at least to keep back from segregation and locking up the "dangerous" ones.

They still could save the world.


	15. Fifteen

**Fifteen**

_One Month Later…_

Hesam stifled a yawn with the back of his hand as he went around checking on the patients. It was a slow day for the Roaming Clinic, which for them meant only twenty or so patients showed up. Most of them could be helped in an hour or two but the more severe cases took longer. He decided that after this check he was taking a nap. Working here was harder than at the hospital some days.

He stopped in front of a girl with a pixie style haircut. The firemen gloves covering her hands were the best they could find so far while she learned to gain control of her ability. Carefully Hesam peeled back the bandages on her face to clean the wounds. They looked like they were finally healed enough to for stitches. She offered him a shy little smile while he worked. He remembered when she came in, sobbing and screaming from the pain. Her hair was in uneven clumps; when asked how she wanted it fixed, she told them to "just cut it all off".

"Okay, I'm going to get some anesthetics and we should be ready to stitch up your face. How are your hands?" She responded by pulling off one of the heavy gloves to show him. The skin was still an angry red color with the flesh peeling off her fingertips, but it still looked a hell of a lot better than when she came in. "Okay, I'll get you something to soak those in."

It was almost a month ago when Hesam first got word about the Roaming Clinic. The word came from a text message from a mysterious person called "Rebel". Rebel called him by name, which was pretty freaky, then gave him some address in Queens telling him to go if he was really interested in helping Activates. Not knowing what to expect and not having much to lose, Hesam followed the directions. And got a huge surprise.

"Peter? What the hell, man?"

"Hey," his former partner greeted him. Seeing him alone was off-footing enough; seeing him with the serial killer Sylar was downright unnerving. "Sorry about the cloak and dagger," Peter was saying, "but it was the safest way I could contact you."

"You shouldn't have done that. The authorities are after your ass. They told me to call them if I ever heard from you. You're all over the news as a terrorist and murderer."

"I know." Peter looked different, older somehow. Maybe it was the shorter hair. "Look, Hesam, I have something I need to show you. If you want to call the authorities after that I'll understand." Hesam was a little wary about where this was going but gave a nod anyway. That was when Peter floated several feet up into the air.

"Holy shit!" Hesam actually jumped in surprise. "You're one of them!"

"Yeah. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I like keeping it to myself, but now I see it's not really an option." There was a silence, then Peter said: "I heard you quit your job at the hospital."

"It was getting to be too much like a military base." It was a little odd to hold such a normal conversation with Peter. Especially with Sylar standing right there watching Hesam's every move. "What's he doing here?" he wondered nervously.

"We're partners," Sylar responded simply. "And yes, that does mean sexual partners." Peter flushed bright red and shot the taller man a glare, but Sylar just smirked. "Anyway, Peter was going to ask you something." He motioned for his partner- Hesam's mind was still reeling from that one- to continue. Peter was still red as he started speaking.

"The government's been keeping records on all the Activates, and keeping a list of potentially dangerous ones. We're trying to stop them as much as we can, but we can't do much without endangering Activates who want to stay hidden. And Activates do still need a safe place to go for medical care. I was hoping you'd be interested in coming on board."

"We can pay you," Sylar added. He picked up a stray piece of garbage, and to Hesam's shock the thing transformed into gold.

So that was what brought him here. The Roaming Clinic never stayed in one place for too long for fear of a government raid. Since it started there were no more hospital raids, but Rebel was getting the word out when he could and more Activates seemed to prefer the privacy their clinic provided.

The clincher came when a young man was tried with murdering his family. The story itself was incredibly vague on details yet every Activate seemed to know he was one of them. There was a fear of being labeled as "dangerous" now; not many were eager to walk through a hospital's doors when they were being monitored for Activate abilities.

And the most amazing part was that Hesam liked the work. It took him a while to stop being freaked out by all the different abilities that came through the door, and he could never be as much of a boy scout about the whole thing as Peter, but he was doing good work. People came in hurt and left feeling better. Stuff like that was the whole reason he chose to be am EMT.

It was a brave new world.


	16. Sixteen

**Sixteen**

The young man's name was Sherman Roland Macray. He was just recruited to two different colleges and was having a celebratory dinner with his family. His mother, father, and two younger siblings were all in the room toasting to his future. It was a wonderful evening, and then everything went to hell. When questioned about it the young man helplessly admitted he wasn't even sure what triggered it. It was probably something stupid, just an average argument between a parent and a child. That detail didn't matter as much as the result.

His trial took forever to put together. First the defense and the prosecution needed to be hired, and no matter what people were going to cry bias. Once that was settled they had to select a jury with a balance of Activates and Regulars- the clever handle Activates gave to people without abilities. That took a long time since every possible juror needed to be screened for abilities. And even after all that, there was the trial itself and the deliberations.

Sherman was brought in to hear the verdict. He wore a suit with his hair slicked back. He could've been a budding business manager or humble clerk in an office, but all that was lost now. His life forever changed because he lost control, because his DNA marked him as something out of the ordinary. No matter what the jury decided, "murderer" would forever be his label.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"We have, your honor."

"Will the defendant please rise?" Sherman did so, his face pale and nervous. His defense attorney stood by him with a grim expression. "On the first count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, how do you find?"

"We the jury find the defendant not guilty." The D. A. patted his relieved client on the back.

"On the second count of the indictment, manslaughter in the second degree, how do you find?"

"We the jury find the defendant guilty." Sherman's face fell. The jury found him guilty of manslaughter two more times, slamming him with a total of three counts. According to the prosecution, they only considered the father's death a murder because he was the one who triggered Sherman's rage.

"Due to the defendant's special conditions, I am sentencing him to one year in solitary confinement for each count to be served consecutively. We thank the jury for their time and careful deliberation on this difficult case. Court is dismissed."

The moment they left the courtroom microphones eagerly swarmed around them to get a sound-bite. First they questioned the defense attorney: how did he feel about the verdict, what was it like to be in the first Activate trial, and a few others. The man answered all their questions with dignified resignation. He knew they lost but he was putting a brave face on it.

"Mr. Macray, do you have any comment?"

The cameras focused on the young man's face. What came next was a moment that haunted people for days, and likely would haunt them for years. This young man, who could have been any other average citizen on the street, who once had such a bright future ahead of him, looked directly into the cameras with a sadness that made him look like a much older man.

"I wish I would have died with them," he said, "but that's not how my power works."

Two days later he found a way to kill himself, after all.


	17. Seventeen

**Seventeen**

Adrenaline rushing through her, the young cheerleader rushed to the man's side. His body was twisted at an awkward angle with blood pooling beneath him. The shock and fear barely had a chance to take hold before he started moving. She watched, dumbstruck as he twisted his leg back into place and the ugly gash on his face closed up. He was healing just like her… She wasn't alone.

_You never should have come to Texas to save me, never should have become my hero…_ She told him that once in anger, but now Claire started to really feel the truth of it. Peter was the only one who made her feel safe back then. Now all she could feel when she thought of him was a broken-hearted rage.

She knew he was the one behind the Roaming Clinic, and after she figured out Rebel was wiping computers she started keeping only hard copies of all Activate research. Claire could understand why some Activates preferred the privacy of the Roaming Clinic and wasn't trying that hard to track it down. Yet it was important to keep screening people for abilities so something like the Macray deaths could be prevented; that was something Peter would never understand. Because he chose Sylar.

_Sylar_. Claire still couldn't believe it. They were always together now, and one time her security even caught them kissing each other. That look in Peter's eyes when he was in Sylar's arms made her sick. Peter loved him, actually _loved_ that monster! She longed for numbness so she couldn't feel the pain and betrayal.

Finding the Roaming Clinic wasn't an easy task. Its location was spread mainly through word of mouth, and nobody was going to tell the Miracle Girl about it. Luckily she was the daughter of Noah Bennet and knew how to lie seamlessly. Getting Peter alone was even harder, but she managed that too. Figuring out which power he had was the hardest part, but he solved that one for her by opening a window with the flick of his hand.

"All right, Miss Butler. What can I help you with today?"

Claire answered by revealing her face. She was no longer the scared cheerleader. Her blonde hair was gone, dyed a dark brunette. It gave her entire face a colder look to it. Peter's expression turned grim but he didn't seem that surprised to see her.

"I was wondering when I'd see you again."

"You were my hero, Peter. You made me feel safe and gave me hope that I wasn't alone. I know you think you're still doing the right thing, but you're wrong. You're a criminal and you chose to be with a serial killer rather than support me. I can never forgive you for that."

"Sylar is a good man now," Peter told her quietly. "He's saved lives and helped Activates."

"Because of you," she argued. "He's only doing all this because of you. Without you, he'd just go back to being a monster. Without you, I can finally stop feeling all this pain." Claire pulled out her gun and pulled the trigger over and over until it was empty. Peter crumbled soundlessly to the floor.

And Claire didn't feel a thing. Not grief or regret or even relief. She was completely numb, and she embraced the feeling. She watched Peter bleed out with a cold indifference. By the time Sylar came back it would be too late: Peter would be gone, taking with him Sylar's one anchor to good. He would snap, and the rest of the world would finally see his true face.

She turned to leave, but a stirring caught her attention. She paused and watched, dumbstruck as Peter slowly pushed back up to his feet. The bullets clattered loudly to the floor as his wounds began to close.

"But… but how?" she demanded breathlessly. "I saw you… You have telekinesis."

"Empathy," he answered. "Sylar has that power, too." Claire didn't know what to say. This didn't seem real… And then the despair came over her as she realized that now her pain would never go away, because now Peter could never die. "You should go, Claire," Peter advised raggedly, lifting a hand to push open the door telekinetically.

Claire gazed at his face one last time. She could swear she saw the scar cutting back into his skin.

She turned away from her one-time hero and never looked back.


	18. Eighteen

**Eighteen**

His steady hands delicately placed the last cog into place. The watch whirred to life and a look of delight brightened his features. There was nothing more satisfying than in fixing things. Of course, it wasn't so long ago that he though the whole thing was insignificant and meaningless. He wanted more than anything else to escape his life as Gabriel Gray and take on a new identity.

Who knew that he would actually _want_ to be Gabriel Gray again? That he would find the peace and delight in fixing things. And more than that, who knew he would find a love that would stay? It was this that held him together. It gave him a reason to fight against the hunger; some days he barely felt it at all. He was even steadily learning to control the urge around all the Roaming Clinic patients.

Gabriel couldn't manage any of this without Peter. Falling in love with the empath was the easy part. He honestly never expected the other to love him back. Yet that's exactly what Peter did, and there were days when Gabriel was still stunned by it. He treasured every single look, ever smile, every touch of his lover. Even now that Peter had his empathy back Gabriel coveted their time together.

Finding Peter in the Clinic with bloody clothes was worrying, but what concerned him more was the scar that was back on his lover's face. Peter could heal now; why was the scar back? Peter told him the story and he understood: Claire willingly killing Peter changed something inside the empath, something that could never be healed. Gabriel hated that he couldn't save Peter from this. He brushed his lips tenderly over the scar, feeling Peter shudder under the attention. Gabriel smiled against the empath's skin; he could learn to love this new feature.

Rebel contacted them earlier that day informing them of a government raid. Peter and Gabriel were hoping this would never happen, yet neither were surprised when it did. From what Rebel could gather, the raid was on a private home. Unfortunately they caught wind of his hacking and erased all the files before he could gather more information. Which was what brought Gabriel and Peter there.

The front door looked undisturbed. Peter tried the door and found it unlocked. After shooting Gabriel a wary look, he moved on inside. It looked undisturbed here but in that uncomfortable way they both knew well. Gabriel started running his fingers along surfaces to pick up memories. The government could cover their tracks only so much.

He found the first memory on a wall and paused as it rushed through him. He felt Peter's hand on his shoulder steadying him in the present. "They came in armed," Gabriel reported. "It was a young couple… They were so afraid."

Together Peter and Gabriel moved farther into the house. It was the wife who had the ability. The government screened her blood and marked her as a possible danger. When they tried to take her away she proved them right by panicking and causing a shockwave that threw them across the room. Her husband yelled for her to run. She did; the raiders grabbed her husband and tried to restrain him. He fought back and they gunned him down.

Living through these memories was always intense for Gabriel, because along with them came the emotions of the people involved. He could feel the young wife's fear and panic, the husband's determination to protect her, the cold professionalism of the raiders. If he didn't have Peter's presence to anchor him Gabriel would be consumed by it all. Then he felt another emotion, something more basic and innocent.

"The baby," he murmured. His head snapped up. "There's a baby. I don't think the raiders found it." That was all Peter needed to hear before he started searching the house in earnest. Not finding the baby anywhere inside, they searched the backyard. They found flecks of blood in the grass. Just when they were beginning to think the worst, Peter found the squirming bundle hidden in the far corner of the yard.

Gabriel watched as Peter checked to make sure the baby was unharmed. It was a boy, hastily wrapped in a blanket by the panicked mother. Gabriel brushed his fingers over the cloth and got a last look at the woman as she hid her son.

"Poor little guy," Peter said, performing a gentle bounce and rocking motion to soothe the restless baby. "He's all alone in the world because someone thought his mother _might_ be dangerous. Any ability could be dangerous! How can they possibly judge something like that?" His expression turned dark, the scar even more prominent on his face.

"What do we do about the baby?" Gabriel wondered.

"Someone has to protect him," Peter answered. "He might have inherited an ability from his mother." Gabriel glanced over Peter's shoulder to observe the child. He couldn't sense an ability now, but that didn't mean one wasn't there just waiting to emerge.

"We should do it," he decided. He wasn't sure why he suggested it, but once it came out the words felt right. "Who better to protect him than the two most powerful Activates in the world?"

Peter lifted his eyes to Gabriel's. There was something in his expression, as if something was clicking into place. "Okay," Peter agreed. "What do you want to name him?"

Gabriel didn't expect Peter to leave that part up to him. He held out his hands to take the infant from the other man. Gabriel was already feeling a helpless uncertainty as the child squirmed in his arms. What if he did something wrong? Could he really protect this boy? Would he be a good father? His eyes flickered to Peter, who gave him an encouraging nod.

If Peter believed in him, who was he to argue? And just like that, the name came to him.

"Call him Noah."

**~end**


End file.
